The elevator doors slid open, and Ethan froze.
For a moment he couldn’t breathe. His briefcase slipped from his hand and hit the marble floor with a dull thud. Because there—on her knees, wearing faded cleaning gloves and scrubbing the tiles like a servant—was his mother.
Not his biological mother. His real mother. The woman who pulled him out of an orphanage at nine years old and raised him like he was her heartbeat.
“Mom?” Ethan whispered, the word cracking in his throat.
She jumped at his voice, nearly dropping the bucket. Her eyes darted toward the living room, fear flickering—fear. He had never seen fear in her eyes.
“Ethan! You’re… home early.”
But before he could step forward, another voice cut through the air.
“Maria! I told you to finish the guest bathroom before touching the hallway. Why are you—”
Evelyn stopped mid-sentence when she saw him.
Ethan turned toward his fiancée with a look she had never seen before—cold, sharp, dangerous.
“What,” he said slowly, “is my mother doing scrubbing our floors?”
Evelyn opened her mouth, then shut it again, clearly scrambling for a version of the truth that wouldn’t bury her. The living room behind her was still scattered with the magazine samples she had been flipping through—wedding dresses, diamond centerpieces, and honeymoon destinations. All her usual obsessions.
“Ethan, sweetheart, she volunteered to help. I told her she didn’t have to—”
“Stop.” Ethan’s voice was calm. Too calm.
Maria stood up shakily. “Son, please. Don’t be angry. I just wanted to contribute. The wedding is expensive, and Evelyn said—”
Ethan felt something inside him snap.
“Evelyn,” he said, turning to his fiancée, “did you ask my mother to work as your maid?”
Evelyn crossed her arms, lifting her chin. “Well, someone has to teach her how a proper household is run. She’s… not exactly refined, Ethan. And if she wants to stay here—”
“Stay here?” Ethan repeated, incredulous.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she huffed. “It’s not like she’s your real mother. She raised you out of charity. And you’re a billionaire now—if she wants to live here, she can at least help out instead of freeloading.”
The room fell silent.
Ethan could hear his own heartbeat. He could hear his mother’s shaky breathing. He could hear the blood-red flags he had ignored for months screaming in his skull.
Because he loved Evelyn. Or who he thought she was.
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